It's A Bet
by Moony Rabbit
Summary: Betting on a game you know very little about it's never a good idea. Stiles learns this the hard way. AO3 Repost


It's A Bet

petershorcrux

Stiles and Jackson are an argumentative two and this has ruined many pack outings, which is why they aren't invited to the one everyone else is off on. Derek thought that instead of having them ruin yet another outing that they should stay in the newly renovated Hale house and try to work out their differences. It could have gone about two different ways: they could have destroyed the Hale house while fighting each other or, and this one may just be stretching it a little bit, they could actually work out their differences.

But, sadly, not one of the aforementioned is happening. Instead they're sitting on the couch and staring at the plasma screen television that Jackson purchased because he refused to watch TV on the smaller television that would have been in its place. Jackson liked watching football, and football was meant to be watched in the highest of definitions and on an unnecessarily large screen, apparently. And really, no one complained because who doesn't like watching TV on a large screen? Stiles doesn't mind, and quietly he doesn't even like football all that much; considering lacrosse is the major sport in Beacon Hills. He hasn't really given it a chance either. And he has to give it a chance now or be bored until everyone gets back because Jackson's grip on the remote is not something Stiles wants to test.

It's 21-13 and the 2nd quarter is about to come to a close. It really doesn't look like the losing team is trying that hard any more. They need Coach Finstock, and maybe a werewolf or two; that would probably make the game a little more entertaining. But then there's a tackle from the losing team and Jackson makes this weird scoffing noise, like he can't believe that they're actually trying anymore. And Stiles tries, he really does, to keep his mouth shut but it slips out, "I bet they're going to win," Jackson looks at Stiles with raised eyebrows, "the team that's losing right now. I'm sure they'll win."

Jackson considers this for a moment, checking the time remaining, the names of the teams, quickly gauges the energy it would take to entertain Stiles' apparent ignorance in football and, "An actual bet?"

Stiles does a double-take. It's not like he wasn't expecting Jackson to reply, he was, it's just he was just trying to annoy Jackson, not start a bet with him. He glances at Jackson out of the corner of his eye and shrugs, "Sure." he says, nonchalantly. "Yeah, why not?"

Jackson smirks and goes back to watching the game.

Stiles would actually like to know what he's just signed himself up for, knowing Jackson it will be something terrible that he'll never live down. And he turns to the screen where the losing team is now playing the offensive and sends out a quick prayer to any cosmic being that will listen, for them to bless the losing team, give them that werewolf that they so desperately need, so that he won't have to live the rest of his live a social pariah.

Stiles honestly thinks they'll win, underdogs usually have a chance, this team seemed like the underdog so this would be a safe bet, right? Jackson seemed pretty confident in his side but that could just be his suffocating ego staunching his perception of just how deep in shit he was.

The more and more hopeful Stiles' thoughts get the more he realizes that he might just lose this bet. That he's going to become a social pariah for whatever Jackson will have him do. Stiles shifts in his seat and bites his lip because, wow, did this couch get uncomfortable all of a sudden or was it just him? Jackson seemed perfectly fine and Stiles' breath picks up a little before he squashes the doubt before it overwhelms him. Underdogs always have their moment-their time to shine. And Stiles thinks, knows deep in his soul, that this game is this teams time to shine. With that thought in mind he nods to himself and smiles before leaning back in his seat, pasting as cocky a smile as he can muster on his face. This one's in the bag.

And wouldn't you know it, not even a moment after Stiles is reassuring himself of his awesome betting skills, the wide receiver makes a catch and dashes 60 yards. Stiles gives an enthusiastic fist-pump and a 'whoop!' that could be misinterpreted for a yelp, which it wasn't, 100% 'whoop!'

Jackson seems to find that funny because he chuckles a little and Stiles is glad that he's a being a good sport about this. With only 40 yards to go, the Underdogs, which Stiles is calling them from now on no matter what their actual team name is, could make a touchdown and maybe even nab that extra point that comes from kicking the ball. It wouldn't tie the two teams but it sure would help Stiles' confidence. 21-20? The Underdogs could make it. Stiles believed in them and with him supporting them they could do it.

The second quarter ends and the game cuts to commercial and Stiles notices how much he has to pee. He gets up from the couch and walks his way down the corridor and to the restroom.

When Stiles gets back Jackson isn't in his seat on the couch but he does hear him walking around in the kitchen. He must be making snacks, Stiles can only hope that he'll share, after all who has been the person putting up with Jackson for the past three hours?

Scott? No.

Stiles, that's who.

He wonders into the kitchen and sure enough, two cans of soda instead of one and while he wouldn't put it past Jackson to drink two sodas Derek has been pretty strict on how much junk the Betas could consume. And while Jackson could blame the, inevitably three, missing sodas on Stiles, Derek would know; Derek always knows. To some that may be a disconcerting quality of Derek to possess-but when you're in a house full of mischievous wolves; and a she-wolf-God forbid Stiles forget to include Erica again, it's good to have someone on your side.

Jackson has his back turned but with werewolf hearing and smelling Stiles is sure that Jackson knows that he's there. Stiles makes his way over to the counter and reaches out for one of the cans of Cola, his hand stops just short of the can, watching for Jackson's reaction, when one doesn't come he grips the can and pops the tab. Score.

Stiles absently sips his soda and watches Jackson finish making a surfeit amount of food, that even he being a werewolf and Stiles being a teenage boy, would call for there to be leftovers. Again, this is something that Derek will snap at them about, but Stiles thinks that Jackson will come up with an excuse. Jackson and Scott, they don't get along too well with Derek when it comes to what they can and can't do. You think they would have learned to listen, even a little bit more, after Derek saved their asses a quite a few times. And these few times there had been no one else to blame but themselves, but no. That's not how they work.

It's a little strange standing next to Jackson, comparing him, the douchiest of werewolves to his best friend. But what are you going to do? It had to be said, or thought.

Jackson doesn't really seem to care about Stiles' inner monologue, instead he focuses on making the perfect football viewing meal and Stiles would be lying if he didn't say he wasn't a little, only a little, impressed. He was sure that Danny was the only one who knew how to make things look appetizing, it was good to know that if for some unfortunate reason Danny didn't drop by one day and Stiles was incapacitated that the pack wouldn't starve. Or... maybe he would? Would Jackson take the time to feed anyone else but Lydia and himself? Stiles shrugs because only time will tell though, he doubts anybody could withstand Isaac's puppy eyes.

In the living room the commercials end and Jackson takes two plates of the food with him, leaving one behind. And this is something, maybe leaving them alone here was for the best, maybe they are bonding. Stiles smiles brightly and grabs the plate, it's not as full as the ones Jackson took but it was cordial of him to at least think about Stiles.

Stiles manages to balance the Cola and the precariously tipping plate in his hands and make it all the way back to the couch. This would be another score for him; maybe his clumsy is taking the day off? That would be a nice, he's quite tired of stumbling over his limbs this week, almost got him killed when they were in that witch's house a few weeks back, you never know what you'll stumble upon. And in that witch's house there just so happened to be a dagger. Just lying around, and Stiles would have criticized the witch's cleanliness had the she not appeared out of nowhere before he completely regained his footing.

This is his life now.

Stiles walks the short distance from the kitchen to the couch and uses the time it takes to survey his plate. It's just a pile of two sandwiches and chips, but they're stuffed and look completely delicious. And Stiles wonders how Jackson got it ready in the short amount of time between the commercials breaks, even when you take into account the supernatural. But Stiles decides to leave well-enough alone and reclaims his seat next to Jackson.

Looking at the scoreboard the Underdogs are still winning and Stiles can feel a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. And in the Underdogs still being ahead he has to think about what he would ask of Jackson when he wins. He doesn't really want much, he's oddly content, being a part of the pack gets him most of the things he wants. A few less chores would be a nice thing, Derek seems to give Stiles most of them when he doesn't need him to research some mythological creature that suddenly materializes somewhere in town. Thinking about it Stiles is pretty sure there are labor laws pertaining to things like that... So, anyway, Jackson-less chores. Stiles nods slowly and takes a bite from his sandwich.

It's actually pretty weird that Jackson isn't talking very much, considering his team is losing, barely, at the moment. When he was watching it earlier he was a lot more animated, shouting whenever a wrong call was made and laughing loudly whenever someone fumbled the ball or his team covered a lot of yards. But now he seems to be deep in thought, Stiles couldn't recall seeing Jackson think this hard and he had to admit, it was freaking him out.

The other male smiles and Stiles knows that can't mean anything good for him. And sure enough the scoreboard is updates, 26-21. He groans loudly and is almost drowned out as Jackson gives a whoop of his own and Stiles sniggers a little.

"'What," Jackson asks, hunched over slightly, leaning towards the TV screen.

"Nothing," he lets out another laugh, shorter this time. "Nothing,"

Stiles holds his breath as the Douchelords, yeah, that's their name; they're Jackson's team so they have to be douches, kicks the football and it propels into the air. He continues to hold his breath until the ball passes between the goalpost, at which time he sighs heavily and hangs his head.

27-21.

Having finished his food Jackson places his plate on the coffee table and leans back into the sofa while Stiles dejectedly nibbles on his last sandwich.

The quarter ends and the cheerleaders for the Underdogs come out. Stiles finishes his sandwich and sets his plate on the coffee table before chasing it down with the remainder of his Cola.

Stiles might have to give the cheerleaders some credit, if their cheer, along with Stiles' awesome support, doesn't net the Underdogs a win, something otherworldly doesn't want them to win.

After the commercials, which seem to drone on forever, the game comes back on.

And then Stiles notices, the in corner of the TV, near the scoreboard, the little number. The little number is four, it's the fourth quarter and his teams behind, and it's not too much of a bad thing considering each quarter is 15 minutes long but still. What if the team's getting tired? What if this is the quarter everything goes to hell?

It is the quarter everything goes to hell and Stiles cusses loudly because he must have jinxed them. He wonders if Jackson will let him call off the bet.

"Hey, Jackson, old buddy-"

"We're not calling off the bet." Jackson comment before Stiles can finish.

"Wah-I wasn't even going to ask that." Stiles tries, fumbling over his words a little.

Jackson hums, seeming a little amused. Stiles is going to insist when a cheering comes from the television. He whips his head to see who made a touchdown-the Douchelords.

33-21, this time they don't make the goalpost, small miracles.

The score remains the same throughout the rest of the quarter and as the game comes to a close Stiles sighs and falls back into the couch. The funniest thing happens when the game end, though. Well, not exactly funny, it's kind of fucked up. The TV goes to the recordings. "You didn't." Stiles says, barely audible.

Jackson shrugs and exits the menu, setting the remote on the coffee table.

"You didn't." Stiles says again, voice cracking a little. "You really let me bet on a recorded game that you've watched? That's cheating; there is actually no way to work that!" Stiles rolls his head towards Jackson.

"Hey, I didn't tell you to bet on the game." He says with a smirk, looking at Stiles haughtily.

"You can't seriously be expecting me to follow through, can you?" Stiles lurches upright, "You have got to be kidding me."

Obviously Jackson isn't kidding. Stiles knows that, stops arguing, and rolls onto his side, away from Jackson.

"So you're not gonna respect the bet?" Jackson taunts.

"I hate you," Stiles mumbles.

"It's not even that bad." Jackson reassures; Stiles scoffs.

"What would I have to do?" The boy curled in a ball asks.

"Blow me." The bet winner replies.

Stiles turns towards Jackson slowly, sure that he's joking. But when he locks eyes with the other male he's assured of the antithesis. Jackson's eyebrows rise and Stiles' jaw opens and closes for a while before he's able to put words together. "What," is all he gets out before falling silent again, Jackson really couldn't be serious. No matter how serious his face looked Stiles' reply was a look and then an alliteration of what was said, "Blow me."

The same jaw movements from before repeat but this time no words come out. Jackson shifts closer to Stiles and Stiles really doesn't know how to react to that, just continues moving his jaw, grasping daftly for words that usually come so easily. The movements slow down a little and then halt completely when Jackson grips his jaw, rubbing his thumb along Stiles' bottom lip.

Stiles is pretty sure he doesn't blush, because that would be lame, but the smirk on Jackson's tells him otherwise. He tries pulling away but Jackson is pretty strong, only a little bit, stronger than Stiles.

"You've got the lips for it." Jackson remarks, eyes a little darker and focused on Stiles' lips.

"That's really lame." Stiles clearing his throat and laughing it off, maybe if he laughs loud enough the pack will come back and whatever is about to happen can just not happen instead, that would be great. Stiles isn't really sure how he feels about be hit on by Jackson and he's most definitely not comfortable with how much he actually wouldn't mind blowing Jackson right now. He gulps and Jackson must be listening to his heartbeat, he wouldn't even need werewolf hearing it's beating so loud, because he smirks. Stiles tries to pull his chin away again, to the same result as the last time.

"Yeah, whatever; so about that blowjob," Jackson grins. And Stiles shudders. Why do these things happen to Stiles? Why not Scott?

"Uhh, no," No? A voice, not Jackson, inquires. "No," Stiles asserts a little more forcefully, though his voice cracks a little.

Jackson's grin deepens and he leans forward and kisses Stiles and Stiles wasn't expecting to be his last kiss, Stiles was actually the last person who he thought would be his first kiss. He'd actually been holding out for Lydia or even Derek. But kissing Jackson was like kissing Lydia, right? No, that was a pathetic way, a little gross too, to think about it. He was kissing Jackson, who wasn't too bad of a kisser, if he was going to be honest.

Jackson leans in a little further and Stiles unconsciously kisses back, he feels Jackson's smirk on his lips and blushes a little.

Somehow, not be Stiles willed himself to, Stiles had turned and his hands were resting on Jackson's biceps. This isn't something he planned and he was totally going to get Jackson back for cheating because that was totally rigged, in every sense of the word, and that deserved comeuppance. Jackson licks Stiles' bottom lip and that derails Stiles' train of thought a little, something about revenge and-wow, Jackson's leg slips between Stiles' legs and rubs against his crotch.

"Not fair," Stiles says, pulling away, panting lightly.

"Yeah, yeah," Jackson moves to undo his pants and whether Stiles licked his lips when Jackson pulled his pants down is debatable. And Stiles is pretty sure he's going to blow Jackson, if only to show how true to his word he is. Jackson slips his jeans just below his knees and Stiles pushes him back onto the couch. "So you're going to honor the bet, huh?"

"Shut up," Stiles says, throat dry. "You still cheated."

Jackson smirks and puts his hands behind his head.

Stiles mouthed at Jackson's cock through his boxers. And he can't say that he hasn't imagined doing this a couple of times, not that he'll ever admit that aloud, but actually doing it is a lot better than just thinking about it. And Stiles would also never admit that he was enjoying this, especially the noise that Jackson makes when it gently scrapes his teeth against the boxers.

Stiles reaches up, pulls at the band of the boxers and Jackson lifts his hips, letting Stiles slide them down.

Looking directly at Jackson's dick makes everything a lot more real and surreal all at once because Stiles has the thought that: yes, he is actually going to do this. And he bites his lip, because while he's sure Jackson's had his dick sucked plenty this is the Stiles' first time even attempting something like this. Surprisingly Jackson doesn't taunt Stiles during his pause, instead stares down at him with some look that Stiles really cannot identify because it's the first time he's actually seen a look like that on the co-captains face. But it seems like Jackson is being understanding and Stiles is thankful for that.

"Y'know, instead of giving me that look you could just tell me I don't have to do it. And that I would, like, owe you a solid or something because-"

"Yeah," Jackson nods, "I could. But I won't."

Stiles huffs a sigh, "Fine."

There's a moment where Stiles tries to think about how to go about this but he shakes off the thought flying around in his head and just follows his instinct-it hasn't failed him since this werewolf thing began and he can only hope it doesn't messed him up now. Leaning down he licks from the base of Jackson's cock all the way to the tip before wrapping his lips around the head.

Jackson lets out a content sigh and reaches one of his hands down to muss with Stiles' hair. Stiles growls in response, a little too much time spent around werewolves has him acting like one-in some fields, apparently. Jackson chuckles and pats him on the head lightly.

Stiles takes a little more into his mouth, opening his mouth a little more while still attempting to maintain a proper amount of suction.

Porn makes this look a little too easy, the whole keeping his teeth behind his lips is a pain and there's a small ache in his jaw. Why do people do this? And then it seems almost obvious why Jackson would want this to be his reward.

Stiles rests one hand on Jackson's pelvis and uses the other to pump what isn't in his mouth, baby steps. Jackson gives a small groan and rocks his hips up a little bit. Stiles starts flicking his tongue over the head of Jackson's cock and pumps a little quicker. After a while of this he takes more into his mouth and begins bobbing his head.

The first and second go have him gagging a little, Jackson doesn't hit the back of his throat but the stretch isn't all that pleasant. Stiles starts a slow bobbing a stroking method, allowing his jaw to accommodate to the stretch little by little and he prays that his jaw doesn't cramp.

"Mind going a little faster?"

You're lucky I'm doing this at all, Stiles thinks to himself grumpily but attempts to move a little faster. Moving slowly at first had helped to make the stretch a little less irritable.

One of Jackson's hands moves to the back of Stiles' head and pushes him down a little. Stiles resists at first but moves a little further down until the stretch becomes unpleasant again. He hopes that Jackson is okay be this far in because Stiles doesn't think he could take any more in.

"Fuck," Jackson mutters, lolling his head back onto the arm of the couch. "Said you had the lips for." he comments, sounding a little out of breath.

Stiles doesn't attempting to make a quip at that remark, though he does feel a little proud of himself. Jackson's out of breath, which means that he must be doing a pretty good job. He moves his hand away and moves a little further down, his eyes scrunch a little because Jackson doesn't touch the back of his throat this time. That's not the strangest thing, however, because his lips hit something hard and it's not Jackson's pelvis, Stiles opens his eyes; that's a knot. Stiles pulls back quickly, catching Jackson off guard his hand doesn't have the time to hold Stiles in place and makes a very manly a gasping noise.

"You have a knot?" Stiles asks, voice a little hoarse.

"A wha," Jackson asks, coming from his stupor.

Stiles points at the base of Jackson's dick with wide-eyes.

"Oh, uh, yeah," He shrugs.

"You didn't think this would be something to mention before be started this whole thing?" Stiles asks, voice still hoarse the few octaves it goes up scratching his throat a little. He's offered another shrug in response.

"I thought you knew. You're the one who does all the research." Jackson counters nonchalantly, Stiles really does worry about him sometimes, no matter how douchey he is.

"I don't spend my time researching whether or not werewolves have knots!" Stiles shouts, bewildered.

Jackson just sighs, "So you're going to stop now?"

Stiles actually has to think about that. He had lost the bet, even though it was rigged and-"Hey, don't make me out to be the bad guy. You've tricked me twice today."

Jackson pulls himself up and peels his shirt off, "I'll return the favor."

That's something. Watching Jackson suck his dick isn't something Stiles would have thought, in a million years, would happen. But he'd thought the same about actually getting to blow Jackson and look where they were now: on the couch, TV making indistinct noise in the background and a new piece of the werewolf anatomy being revealed to Stiles and Jackson acting like it was the easiest thing to get over in the world. And with that thought it means that Scott, Derek, Boyd, and Isaac all have a knot and wow, isn't that a loaded thought?

"You would actually do that?" Stiles asks, suspicious.

Jackson shrugs again, man this guy is made out of shrugs, Stiles thinks bemusedly. "Might as well, after all I did trick you, I guess."

That's at least a little admirable.

Stiles mulls the thought over in his mind before nodding. Jackson smiles and settles back into the couch.

All of Stiles' hard work was for naught, seeing as Jackson was only semi-hard now. But it didn't take much work to rouse him again.

Stiles continued the slow stroke method, still a little wary of the knot at the base of Jackson's cock. What was he going to do with that?

It was answered when, after Stiles had worked on Jackson for a few minutes and his jaw was really beginning to act that Jackson finally did come, hips thrusting upwards and knot catching in Stiles' mouth that he got his answer. It was in a panic that Stiles forgot to breathe through his nose, it may have also been arousal because instead of the pain that should solely come from Jackson's cock hitting the back of his throat and gagging him there was a mute pleasure that Stiles didn't really think he had any way of explaining. He also didn't feel like delving too far into that, even if he could in this present state.

Stiles also doesn't know how he feels about Jackson coming directly down his throat. Stiles doesn't even really need to try, as a way of avoiding drowning on come, which would really be a way to go, his throat decided it would be better to just swallow it.

"Fuck, sorry," Jackson said, sounding like he meant it, he better fucking mean it.

Stiles tried to word a reply around Jackson's dick, instead of getting any noise out it only sent vibrations through Jackson's already hyper-sensitized cock.

"Don't do that," Jackson admonished, rocking his hips a little and letting out a shaky breath.

Stiles did stop and instead focused on trying to work his jaw free and after a while he did, pulling away; a mix of come and saliva connecting his mouth and Jackson's cock.

Before Stiles could comment Jackson moved in and kissed him, it was a really nice kiss, a lot softer than the one from earlier and Stiles felt himself relaxing into it immediately.

"I really am sorry." Jackson whispers against Stiles' lips when he pulls away.

"Mmm, it's okay. You're going to return the favor soon enough anyway." Stiles says, nuzzling his face into Jackson's neck, dozing a little.

Jackson laughs.

Jackson's way of repaying the favor wasn't 'sucking Stiles' brain through his dick' kind of thing, Stiles it was more of a 'fucking him senselessly into his mattress kind of thing.'

And it just had, because the world hates Stiles, the moment that he came that Scott found it an opportune time to walk. Face buried in the pillow, pumping himself furiously while Jackson fucked in and out of him; Stiles really didn't know how to handle this. Jackson saying anything nor did he stop fucking him Stiles into the mattress, just remained hunched over him, hitting his prostate which continued to make Stiles whine loudly.

Scott stood there for a good 15 seconds, staring until Jackson turned to him and said, "Wanna join in or are you just gonna stand there and watch?" It took that vocal cue for Scott to close the door and walk away.

"I fucking hate you." Stiles pants out.

"Mmm, sure you do." Jackson says mockingly, kissing the back of Stiles' neck.


End file.
